


All That You Are Is All That I Need (No More Pretending)

by loonyBibliophile



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: A Whole New World More than 5k Exchange, F/M, grease 2 au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 05:13:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4864391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loonyBibliophile/pseuds/loonyBibliophile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma Simmons has worked hard to get where she is in life. Top of the class and a shoe-in for valedictorian, and the leader of Rydell High's infamous girl gang, the Pink Ladies. But when a Scottish exchange student named Leo Fitz shows up, not just at the school but in all her advances classes, the balance of her precariously secretive academic life swings dangerously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That You Are Is All That I Need (No More Pretending)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lavendergaia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavendergaia/gifts).



The front lawn of Rydell High was a flurry of activity on the first day of a new semester. Students milled about, talking loudly and reuniting with friends they hadn’t seen over the break, pouring on the sidewalks and the grass from cars and buses alike. A pink Chevy Bel Air screeched into the parking lot, burning rubber as it drove halfway up the sidewalk, the driver laughing maniacally as students scattered away from the front bumper. 

“Raina! You could have hurt someone!” Jemma Simmons scolded from the passenger seat, grabbing her messenger bag from the floor. 

“But I didn’t.” Raina rolled her eyes and shrugged slowly. In the backseat, her adopted younger sister, Skye, offered Simmons an apologetic look. Simmons just sighed and slid out of the car, smoothing her dark leggings and the bottom of her immaculate Pink Ladies jacket. She pulled a pair of black cat eye sunglasses from her bag and slid them effortlessly onto her face, looking back at the group of girls who had finally finished emerging from the car. 

“Ready ladies?” she arched an eyebrow and turned to the front steps of the school, walking confidently towards the door like she owned the place. Which, in a lot of ways, the Pink Ladies sort of did. Skye, Raina and the others followed behind her, albeit Raina a bit reluctantly. 

The commotion in the parking lot died down, leaving only the stragglers, mostly freshman.A red convertible slid easily into an empty parking spot. 

“All you Americans drive like mad people. Absolutely nutty.” 

“C’mon, Leopold, don’t be such a stick in the mud.” Bobbi grinned broadly. 

“If you call me Leopold one more time, I swear to god, I will give Hunter your house number.”

“Fitz it is.” she threw her hands up in mock surrender before exiting the car. 

“Why did you even agree to help him with this, if you two are broken up?”

“He’s a cousin of a good friend of mine. Don’t want to burn any bridges.” Bobbi shrugged, dangling her leather jacket over her shoulder. “Let’s get going. I may not be able to be marked late, but you sure can.” 

“Yeah, that too, why exactly are you here again? You graduated.” 

“Principal Hand is letting me use the lab during the chem teacher’s free period for my independent study at the local U.”

“Who’d a guessed? Bobbi the mechanic is secretly a bookbuster.” 

“Ay, watch who you’re callin’ bookbuster there, mister High IQ.” 

In the halls of the school, Simmons stood at her locker, defly swapping textbooks around as her friends, mostly Raina, were distracted by the spectacle that was the T-Birds arriving. Grant Ward and his various leather jacketed cronies sauntered through the halls, hooting at girls and slamming people’s lockers shut. When she was sure no one was looking at her, Simmons rolled her eyes, all the while slipping the dust jacket of the school’s regular science text over the cover of her advanced biology book. 

“Hey Jemma.” Ward quirked an eyebrow, cigarette hanging obscenely from his mouth, as he landed a hand forcefully on the lockers beside her shoulder. Simmons stared up at him coolly, sliding her sunglasses into her neat ponytail. 

“Simmons, Grant.” was all she said, stepping deftly out from under him. 

“Aw, c’mon baby, don’t be like that.” 

“I am nobody’s ‘baby’, and certainly not yours. I split from you months ago, Grant. Get over it.” She spun around on her heel as she departed, giving him one last hard look “And you should stop smoking. You reek.”

“I still can’t believe you dumped him.” Skye sighed forlornly, snaking a look at him as she took her place to Simmons’ left. “He’s so mint.” 

“He may be… particularly well formed and symmetrical. But he’s a total drag. The man can’t talk about anything but his motorcycle. A girl needs variety in her life, especially a girl of my caliber.” she grinned saucily at Skye and winked, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder. 

“Are you sure you don’t have any classes with us?” Raina piped in, crumpling her own schedule and shoving it in the pocket of her Pink Ladies jacket. 

“Not a one, I’m afraid.” Simmons smiled apologetically back at her, but something in her face looked off. Raina couldn’t place it though, so she had no choice but to move on. “Hand must be trying to crack down on us and get us under control before we graduate.” 

“She lets the T-Birds get away with everything.” Skye rolled her eyes. “Do you know how many weeks of detention she gave me last term just for playin’ Elvis on the intercom that one time? But I betcha if Grant Ward and one of the boys had done it, she’d have laughed it right off and just given him a slap on the wrist.”

“She has always been one to play favorites.” Raina admitted. 

“Ooh gosh, I’m sorry ladies, I’ve left something in my locker! See you at lunch?” Simmons smiled and wiggled her fingers in a wave, before rushing back to her locker. She rifled through it until the other Pink Ladies had vanished down the hall or into classrooms, and then shut it with a sigh. This year was going to be a drag. 

“Excuse me? I’m afraid I’m a bit lost and my guide has ditched me for the chem lab?” a voice speaks up quietly and Simmons is startled by the accent. Scottish. So very close to her own. She turns around to see a rather unassuming boy her age in a sweater. 

“Oh, well, I suppose there’s no harm in telling you where to go.” Simmons replied, after her eyes darted around to make sure no one who would report back to Raina or Ward was lurking around. “What class do you need directions to?”

“Oh! You’re a Brit as well then? Are you an exchange student?” Fitz grinned eagerly and stuck his hand out for her to shake “I’m Leo Fitz, but call me Fitz.”

“No, no, I live here. Have for a few years. Just call me Simmons. Now, where are you going?” she shook his hand, trying to hide her reluctance. 

“Advanced Biology? Teacher to be announced, whatever that means.” 

“...Well I can definitely show you where that is, as it’s also where I’m going. The to be announced is because the normal teacher, Mr. Sitwell, is on a sabbatical, and they weren’t sure who would be filling in for him.” Simmons inclined her head towards the correct hallway, leading Fitz to the correct room. 

“You are?... Shite, that sounded wrong, I just wouldn’t have pegged you as the type.” 

“Why?” Simmons snapped, forgetting herself momentarily “Because I’m a skirt?”

“Nah, not at all. I just… I saw you with your friends, earlier. That’s all.”

“Oh.” Jemma huffed out a breath of air, and straightened her jacket again. “Well, for your information this class was the only one available when I finally registered for the year.” The cover up was sloppy, even she could admit that, obviously she still would have needed to grades to take the class even if it had been the only one available. But something told her this kid would keep his mouth shut. But better to have insurance. She narrowed her eyes at him. “If you tell a single bloody soul I’m in this class, I can have the T-Birds after you like that.” she snapped her fingers. Fitz nodded, swallowing. 

During the next hour of advanced biology, which was mostly introductory activities with the long term sub, Phil Coulson, Fitz tried very hard not to stare at the terrifying and confusing young woman who’d lead him to class. She’d sat herself in the back corner, away from both the board and any doors and windows, but was rapidly taking notes on essentially everything the teacher said. He had to admit, he was intrigued. It didn’t hurt that she was stunning. Soft, dark curls with caramel colored highlights, the natural kind, big eyes the color of honey and of course, glaringly out of his league. She’d barely wanted to speak to him. And if he’d thought her excuse about this being the only open class was terrible before, he certainly did at the end of the school day, when she’d ended up being in every single one of his advanced courses. 

Leo Fitz was going to be a problem, Simmons decided. She had spent four years clawing her way to the leadership of the Pink Ladies and, secretly, the top of her class. It hadn’t been easy, juggling maintaining her reputation and building her cool facade, in addition to studying late into the night to ace all her classes. Not to mention what a trial finals always were, trying to hide her results from the other girls and not ever showing them her report cards or finished assignments. So if this transfer student, with his achingly familiar accent and curly hair and apparent genius to rival hers, ruined her cover for her, she was going to have his head. And she was going to have his head twice over if he beat her out for valedictorian. 

Lunch that day had been an Olympic trial, carefully stepping around Raina’s pointed questions about her classes and her summer. Why the girl was so determined to take over the Pink Ladies with only one year of high school left, Simmons had no idea, but it was growing tiresome already. And it had only been a day. 

“So. Bowling tonight?” Skye offered as a tension breaking during a particularly unpleasant staredown, punctuating her question with a snap of her gum. 

“Sounds perfect. I can’t wait to kick the boys’ butts for the first time this school year.” Simmons grinned mischievously. 

They took Simmons’ car to the bowling alley, at her request, though Skye brought along her board, as inevitably she knew she would get bored waiting around for them to stop mooning over the guys. Simmons had a notebook tucked under her arm, which she’d told the ladies was for strategy notes. In reality, it was so she could start drafting an essay while maintaining her social life. Living two lives was hard work. 

After overhearing a conversation about bowling, Fitz was determined to make an appearance. Not because he particularly cared about the sport, or even the social set up. But because Jemma Simmons was going to be there and she was an enigma he very much wanted to spend more time around. It was early evening, and he was in the local boneyard with Bobbi, since she was good friends with the owner, Mack, sorting through spare parts to use for projects and helping Bobbi with a repair job on her bike. 

“So.” he said, the picture of faux casual “D’you know anything about Jemma Simmons?” Bobbi raised an eyebrow and smirked. 

“I know she’s Hunter’s cousin. And she’s the leader of the Pink Ladies, as I’m assuming you managed to surmise. And the Pink Ladies only date T-Birds. It’s a rule. A stupid rule, because most of the T-Birds aren’t exactly Deb’s delights, if you catch my drift. Especially their head honcho, Grant Ward.”

“So I shouldn’t bother then?”

“Oh no, I absolutely think you should bother. Simmons hates all that bullshit, she embraces it because she thinks it’s the ‘proper way to experience high school’, but I can tell it’s wearing on her. Bookbuster guy like you might do her some good. Especially after Ward.” 

“Wait… she dated that musclehead?” Fitz cursed internally. If that was the kind of guy Simmons was into, he was right doomed. He wasn’t out of shape by any means, but he certainly wasn’t what one would call fit. And while he was still taller than Simmons was, he had nothing on Ward heightwise. 

“And dumped him. Told everyone it was just a summer fling and she was tired of him, but I think it’s because he can’t hold a conversation that isn’t about himself or motorcycles.” Bobbi rolled her eyes. “Go to the bowling alley. It’s almost closing time but you might catch a round or two. Take my car. Just remember to drive on the right side of the road.” she winked and tossed him her keys and Fitz smiled his thanks, trying not to rush as he headed out to the parking lot. 

When he finally walked into the bowling alley, it was indeed closing time, and the Pink Ladies and T-birds were on the way out just as Fitz walked through the door. But he’d walked into some sort of screaming match between Simmons and Grant Ward, who kept trying to cage her up against the wall. Eventually, she kicked him in the shin and ducked away. 

“We’re over, Grant! We’ve been over! I can kiss whoever I bloody hell want!” she was seething mad and stormed towards to door, finally spotting Fitz, standing there awkwardly. “I could kiss him right now if I wanted to, and it would be none of your business, because I broke up with you!” Fitz blushed scarlet as she waved her hand in his direction. Ward look livid, and Fitz got the distinct feeling he may have to run for his life soon. “In fact, maybe I will!” Fitz had all of three seconds to register what Simmons had just said before she was grabbing the lapels of his shirt and tugging his mouth down for the scant few inches needed to kiss him. 

Simmons had intended to plant a peck on Fitz’s lips, just to prove a point, but the moment her lips made contact with his, she changed her mind. As it turned out, the bookish new kid was very satisfactory kisser. It didn’t hurt that he smelled vaguely of shaving cream and metal and tasted like cinnamon either. Her head was spinning a little as she realized she really needed to stop. This had been a strange thing to do before and now it was even more so because she’d let it go on for so long. Suddenly, she pulled away, patted Fitz’s sweater awkwardly, and then walked out of the alley and over to her car. 

After seeing the enraged look on Grant Ward’s face, Fitz turned to the door without a word and all but ran towards Bobbi’s car. He spent several minutes sitting in the dark of the driver’s seat, trying to collect himself. When the door opens and someone slides in, he practically jumps out of the seat. But when he looks over it’s not Ward or someone else equally terrifying. It’s just Raina’s sister Skye. 

“Simmons took off with her car, and all the other girls’ got rides from the boys. Since you are, sort of, the reason Simmons took off, you owe me a ride home because I’m not about to board across town in the dark.” 

“Oh. Okay. Well, where do you live? Your old man’s not gonna shoot me for being a random male bringing you home, is he?”

“Nah. He’s too busy trying to keep Raina from destroying the family reputation, or something.” Skye shrugged easily, and directed him across the small town to her house. She opened the door to jump out but stopped, turning to look at Fitz. 

“You should try and make friends with Simmons. I know she’s sort of weird and seems standoffish but she’s really not. And I don’t think she likes the T-Birds anymore than I do, really.”

Fitz didn’t have time to say anything before she shut the door and ran up the walk and into her house. 

Simmons didn’t say anything to Fitz in their first class the next day. Or the one after that. So in the third class of the day, he took matters into his own hands. It was chemistry class, and they were reluctant lab partners. Simmons was studiously staring down at her notes, but he really couldn’t tell if she was avoiding him or genuinely that focused on her work. Maybe it was a bit of both. 

“So.” he started. But before he could continue, her head snapped upright and she stared at him blankly, as if she hadn’t noticed he was there until just then. 

“Fitz! I have a proposal for you.” 

“Well if it’s anything like last night-” he began once more, but Simmons barreled on like he hadn’t even spoken. 

“I need to enter the upcoming science fair but none of the ladies can know. If we partner up, not only do we essentially guarantee victory because we would be the only real competition the other would have, but I can claim I was coerced by a teacher into doing it for extra credit to get my grades up.” 

“But your grades are higher than mine?”

“Well yes, obviously, but the Pink Ladies don’t know that. Don’t even know what my schedule is, I never let them see my completed assignments, my report cards at the end of each semester, or anything like that. I have a system.” she sniffed at the end of her statement, as if all of that not only made sense, but should have been perfectly obvious. Fitz stared at her, incredulous. 

“But… why? Why bother with all that?”

“Social status is essential in high school. Success on the ladder of popularity is just as relevant to my future endeavours as my academic excellence is. Because of my place in the Pink Ladies I know how to make friends, enemies, command a room, and be assertive in all situations. It’s a very necessary skill for a woman going into any male dominated field.” she blinked at him expectantly, then sighed. “Well then? Are you going to help me?”

“Sure, yeah, I suppose. But what will we do?”

The rest of the class period passed in a blur of discussion, interspersed with moments of work on the actual assignment. Fitz completely forgot about asking about the kiss until the bell for the next period was already ringing. By the time he looked up from his bag, Simmons was already ready to leave. 

“Simmons, wait.” he reached for her shoulder to stop her before aborting the motion immediately. 

“Yes?” her voice was impatient. 

“Would you um. That kiss last night, it was killer. I was just thinking maybe you and I could… You know?” he fumbled and blushed and Simmons mentally scolded herself for finding his bumbling endearing. And he was quite cute, in his own way, and he certainly could hold a conversation about something other than making out and motorcycles. But Pink Ladies dated T-Birds, and even that aside, Fitz was as far away from her type as anyone could be really. 

“Sorry, Fitz, but in case you haven’t noticed, I’ve a bit of a type. I only date bikers. Ladies love bad boys, or whatever it is they say these days.” 

She left the room without another word. Well, at least now Fitz had something to work with. He could do motorcyles, he reasoned. After all, the balancing and tricks and turns were just geometry, and he was sure Mack would give him parts and supplies and a fixer upper bike in exchange for labor and time put in at the boneyard. He could fix anything with an engine, after all. 

That evening he walked over to Bobbi’s and asked for a ride to the boneyard and made a deal with Mack. 

“Are you doing what I think you are?” Bobbi asked with a raised eyebrow, leaning against the fence as she watched Fitz sort through spare parts. 

“I’m building a motorcycle.”

“Yeah, obviously. But are you doing it why I think you’re doing it?”

“Simmons only date bikers. You think I could be good for the bookbuster side of her. Well, to date that side of her, I got to appeal to the bad girl side of her too. So I’m building a motorcycle. And then I’m going to learn to ride said motorcycle.”

“I hope you buy a lot of safety gear. You’re shrimpy.”

“Oh, you’re going to help me.” Fitz leveled an evil grin in Bobbi’s direction. 

“Am I?”

“I’m not above holding Hunter over your head, Bob.”

“Fine, fine. I would have helped anyway, for the record. I think it’s cute.” 

“Don’t ever call anything I do cute again.” Fitz pulled a face and set to work with a socket wrench. 

While Fitz was busy living a double life between school and extra hours at Mack’s, Simmons was equally busy balancing the messy social life with the Pink Ladies, her usual school work, and the science fair. She’d told the girls the chemistry teacher had made her do it to make up for missed homework assignments. They’d had no choice to accept that, since they never saw her finished assignments. The problem was acting like she didn’t care and didn’t want to do the work. It was becoming increasingly difficult to find enough time in the day for all the things she needed to do. 

It wasn’t helping matters that Fitz was being exceedingly difficult about scheduling time to work on their project. He worked constantly, and refused to elaborate as to what he was doing or why it used up so much of his time. Currently, she was sitting in the local diner, tapping her fingers impatiently. She’d been waiting for nearly fifteen minutes, and Simmons had very little tolerance for tardiness. It was only making it worse that the waitresses kept shooting her pitying looks, as if they thought she’d been stood up. Finally, Fitz stumbled through the door, looking uncharacteristically rumpled, and with a smear of… something across his face. He was rushing and clumsy and apologetic, babbling apologies as he settled into the booth, his face flushed from running. She scolded herself mentally, informing the traitorous part of her brain that she in no way found his frantic ways adorable. 

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to be late, I go’ held up working on a project at work and had a little trouble getting away.” 

“You’ve.. is that oil? You’ve got oil on your face.” 

“Oh, bloody hell.” Fitz cursed and made a face, pulling the silver napkin dispenser over to scrub the offending smudge away. Simmons wondered what he’d been doing that involved oil. Maybe he worked in the school’s auto shop. He did seem to be good with his hands. Not that Simmons ever stared at them, of course. 

“So, now that you’re finally here, shall we grab a bite and get started?”

“Yeah, sure. Sorry again, won’t happen again, scout’s honor.” Fitz smirked and threw three fingers up in a salute. Simmons bit back a bark of pleased laughter and simply nodded. 

“And what will you two lovebirds have today?” A waitress asked as she slid up to the table. Fitz blushed scarlet and Simmons just looked indignant. 

“No no no, we’re uh… we’re just… friends? Not even friends really, he’s my lab partner.” 

“Yeah. Just partners.” Fitz practically spit, levelling a glare at Simmons, who had the grace to at least look apologetic and mouth ‘Sorry I panicked’ at him. He huffed, but they ordered and set out to get as much research and organization done as they could before Simmons had to leave. 

The next day was, blessedly, a Saturday, and Fitz headed to the bone yard early in the morning to put the finishing mechanical touches on his bike, so he could start learning how to ride it. 

“Hey kid.” Mack called out with a nod. Fitz nodded back silently, and rolled the motorcycle he’d been working on out of it’s corner of the garage, and pulled out the box of tools and parts he needed. He only had a few things left to do, and all it would need after that was some washing and a coat of paint to make it look nice. And he had to figure out how to ride it without dying, of course. Not that he’d ever admit it out loud, but this was vastly out of Fitz’s wheelhouse. Leopold Fitz liked sleeping till noon, eating the same five meals every day, turning his work in on time, and keeping to vehicles which did not require balance to attempt to ride. Leopold Fitz did not wear leather and ride a motorcycle. But apparently he was going to have to, in order to get Jemma Simmons to give him a chance. 

Mack had voiced his concerns about this plan, asking Fitz if it was really a good idea to change himself for someone’s attention. But Fitz rationalized that away because, he felt, he wasn’t really changing himself. He would still be the same person, it’s not like he was going to give up his love of academia and fish and chips. He was just acquiring a new skill in order to impress someone. 

Bobbi watched him, amused, from under the hood of her car, which she was trying to improve even further. Fitz was bent over the motorcycle, wrench in hand, grease stained t shirt shoved up over his elbows, with dust and grease smudged on his face, arms and hands. If only Simmons could see him now, she thought wryly to herself. The girl would probably fall over. 

“Hey, Bob!” Fitz called out, standing up and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “Want to teach me how to ride this death trap?”

The look on her face was, frankly, terrifying. 

A few weeks of project work later, Simmons was trying to get out of a night out. 

“Come on, Simmons, don’t be such a square.” Raina wheedled, draping herself across the hood of her car. 

“I told you Raina, I’m busy. The folks will ground me if I don’t get this work done, and we can’t have that, now can we?” This was a lie, of course, but the Ladies didn’t have to know that. Simmons did need to get the work done, but in reality it was for several weeks from now, and she just wasn’t feeling up to a night at the bowling alley. 

“Grant will be there.” 

“That’s supposed to entice me how, exactly?”

“Oh come on, you know he’s not over you, and he’s totally bangin’.”

“Well I’m over him, and regardless of his, admittedly nice, looks, he’s a genuinely unpleasant person.”

“Why does that even matter?”

“It matters to me.” 

“Ugh, you can be such a priss sometimes. Just come out for a little while.” 

“Fine, I’ll come to the bloody bowling alley.”

The Pink Ladies had barely been at the bowling alley for a half an hour when things started to go south. One of the T-Birds started shouting about their rival gang’s leader being alone outside, leading to a lot of shouting and scrambling and squealing, and most obnoxiously, Grant Ward sauntering cockily out of the door of the alley. Simmons was tugged unwillingly along by Raina and Skye. When they got outside, the rival leader was, of course, no longer alone. The entirety of the Hydra gang was there. Instead of backing down like a sensible person, Ward ran for his motorcycle and started a fight. But the circling and posturing of the T-Birds and Hydra were interrupted by a third party. Unlike usual, it was not the cops, but a stranger in a leather jacket, their face hidden behind a fully shielded helmet, riding dark red motorcycle. His bike soared easily into a jump, landing and coasting to a stop in front of Ward and Hydra’s leader, Garrett. He inclined his head in a challenge, turned the motorcycle around easily, and raced around the parking lot. Both gangs took off after him, but they weren’t much of a match for the easy grace of the mysterious biker. Simmons watched with rapt fascination, leaning forward onto the hood of a car in front of her. 

“He’s good.” Skye whispered. 

“He’s very good.” Simmons whispered back, never taking her eyes off of him. 

The racing drew and loud cheering drew attention, first from the alley owners, who tried uselessly to force everyone away. When they failed, the cops were called, and at the first hint of a siren, the bikers scattered. The mysterious stranger however, rode over to Simmons, dropping one boot clad foot to the asphalt.

“Hubub like this isn’t any place for a pretty one like you, baby girl. Need a ride out of here?” the voice was muffled by the helmet, but clear enough to hear. Simmons, much to the concern and dismay of the fellow Pink Ladies behind her, nodded eagerly and climbed onto the back of the motorcycle with practiced ease. She wrapped her arms around his waist while he leaned down and spun backwards, sliding a helmet over her hair, strangely careful. 

“Safety first.” Simmons could practically hear the wink in his voice. 

After asking where she lived, the mysterious biker took Simmons on a slow, scenic version of the ride back to her house, with the occasional sharp fast corner. She buries her face in his back, and under the leather she can smell grease and hot metal and something clean and sharp. Something about it seems familiar, but she decides now is not the time and shuts her eyes, enjoying his warmth in front of her and the cold wind and the rush of speed around them. He comes to a stop in front of her house, and Simmons finds she doesn’t want to get down. But she does, because she still has advanced course work to do, and things to work on for the science fair. 

“Who are you?” she finally thinks to ask, tilting her head while she pulls the helmet off and hands it back. 

“A friend.” 

“The mysterious type, eh?”

“Trying it on, yeah.” 

“Will I see you again?”

“Next Friday at 8, if you’d like.”

“Yes, I would like.” 

“See you around, baby girl.

“My name’s Simmons.” 

“I know.” 

“But I think you… you can call me Jemma.” 

“Well then… See you soon. Jemma.” he leans off the bike and crooks his finger, tapping the underside of her chin, then speeds off. 

Under the helmet, Fitz is beaming. He can hardly believe how well that went. He rolls her first name around in his mouth a few times, relishing the sound of it. 

The school week passes in a blur of activity. Homework, social obligations, working on their science fair projects. At one point, Raina catches Fitz and Simmons at the diner, bent over a pile of notebooks, and Simmons hastily explains that she’s being forced into tutoring sessions. Raina rolls her eyes, but buys it and leaves. 

“I think it’s silly that you lie to them.” Fitz says finally, doodling on a corner of their notes. 

“I have a reputation.” 

“What use are friends who don’t know a lick about you, though?”

“You need other things than academics to make it in this world, Fitz. I’m going to have a long hard road ahead of me if I want to be in the medical research field while also happening to be a woman.” 

“I just think if they’re your friends, they shouldn’t care. Wouldn’t you think.” 

“We have work to do, Fitz.” Simmons says, her voice cool, and Fitz throws his hands up in surrender. She quickly silences the voice in the back of her mind that whispers that Fitz is right. 

Through all their various clandestine study meetings, Simmons wonders sometimes if this isn’t what she really wants. Not a cool, tough biker, with a scuffed leather jacket wrapped around broad shoulders, but someone who simply… understands her. Knows what she’s thinking and how to talk to her about it, regardless of how dopey he may happen to be. But then she remembers how she felt on the back the of mysterious rider’s motorcycle, and she shakes any of those thoughts about what she and Fitz could maybe have been away from her mind. He will make some pretty little scholar girl very happy one day, she thinks. 

Friday night rolls around, and Fitz is having a minor crisis. Which is not especially unusual, if he’s being honest with himself. As he struggles into a pair of tight black jeans, Mack’s words start to wear him down. Maybe the older man was right, and he was making a mistake. After all, Simmons seemed to like him plenty as a person when they were studying. It was her preoccupation with her stupid reputation that was the problem. So why should he have to change anything about himself, when she was the one with the hang ups? But then he thought about how excited she looked whenever he figured out what she meant to say before she said it, and the quietly morose expression she seemed to wear around the Ladies and how… different she was, when it was just them. If this was what it took to help her, break her out of her shell, well, he would just have to deal with it. 

Simmons slipped out of her house just before eight, tugging at her clothes self consciously. It was, after all, quite difficult to dress to be cute and also safe on the back of a motorcycle. Skill was required to pull off such a feat. She’d contemplated wearing her Pink Ladies jacket, but she was too afraid someone might recognize her if she did. The mysterious boy might have been a biker, but he certainly wasn’t a T-Bird, and she’d worked too hard and given up too much to cement her role as leader to have such a silly rule bring her down this late in the game. A thrill ran down her spine when she heard the motorcycle rounding the block, and she tried not to look to eager as she rushed down the steps to meet the waiting biker, his face still hidden behind his helmet. 

“Ready to go?” his voice was smooth as he asked, that same barely detectable, unplaceable accent stirring something in the back of Simmons’ mind. He held the spare helmet out to her again, and she pulled it on, climbing behind him easily. “Hold on tight, baby girl.” he murmured, before speeding down the road, turning sharply. 

As she laughed and leaned into the turn, Simmons acknowledged she likely should have taken offence at the ridiculous petname. This person barely knew her, and of course she was an intelligent, independent woman of the sixties, not anyone’s ‘baby girl’. The very notion was absurd. But something about the way he said it, softly and carefully, made it seem less diminutive and more like he thought she was something wonderful and precious and new. It gave her chills. 

Hidden under the helmet, Fitz revelled in the feeling of Simmons’ arms wound tight around his waist. Her hands clutched at his jacket, fingers pressed against her ribs, her chest flush against his back. He traced a now familiar path of turns and long country roads, heading out to a spot Bobbi had clued him into on one of their lessons. When they finally reached their destination, Fitz hopped off the bike, leaving his own helmet on, before helping Simmons out of her own helmet and off the bike. 

“And we’re here.” he smiled, though she couldn’t see it. He’d driven them up to the top of a hill on the outskirts of town, far up above the streetlights and cars, all trees and starlight. 

“It’s lovely.” Simmons breathed, leaning back against his chest. She was flushed from the excitement and cold air of the drive, shivering slightly as the adrenaline slowly wore off. When he felt her shake against him, Fitz slid the leather jacket off his shoulders, tucking it around hers, to shield the thin silk of her blouse from the cold. She hummed appreciatively.

“Are you going to tell me who you are?” she asked, her voice quiet. 

“Eventually, yes. I promise.” 

“You’re a biker. How do I know you’ll keep that promise?”

“Give me a date. Give me a date and I’ll tell you.”

“Really?”

“Really.” 

Simmons hesitated for several moments, for any number of reasons. She wasn’t sure when to choose, for one. And for another, some part of her wondered if knowing, as curious as she was, would cancel out some of the magic. And, much to her distress, some part of her hesitated on thoughts of quiet Scottish accents and blue eyes.

“Two weeks from now, there’s a science fair. That I’m… participating in. Show up at that, and show me who you are.”

Fitz cursed internally. He had no idea how to work that out. But he couldn’t say no, he had no way to explain himself. And he certainly couldn’t let her down, or tell her no. So he nodded.

“Science fair at Rydell High it is.” Fitz glanced down at his watch, and then sighed. “It’s quite late. I should take you home.” 

“A responsible biker? Unheard of.” Simmons said with a laugh. 

“I’m a very rare species indeed. Come on now, put your helmet back on.”

“Don’t you need your jacket?” she went to tug the sleeves off and press it back to him, but he shook his head.

“Not as much as you do.” he said. Not as much as I want to feel how warm you’ll be, pressed against my back, he thought to himself. Simmons smiled, slow and careful, and he knew he’d made the right call. He slipped back onto the motorcycle, and waited for Simmons to follow suit. The ride back to her family’s home was long and winding and cold. Fitz had been right though, Simmons felt delectably warm and soft pressed against the cotton of his black shirt. The imprint of her fingers felt burned into his stomach and ribs. He came to a stop in front of her house, and she dismounted skillfully, handing him his helmet, a sly smile on her face. 

“Pull up your visor. Not enough to show me who you are, I know we have a deal. Just a little.” she grinned. Cautiously, he did as she asked. 

Simmons ducked down, slotting her lips against his through the small opening he’d made in his helmet. The angle was awkward, and the plastic of his chin guard pressed into her skin, but his hands slipped warm and solid under the leather jacket to press into her sides, and the barest rasp of stubble rubbed deliciously against her skin. 

“Good night, mystery boy.” she whispered against his lips, as she pulled away. 

“Good night, Jemma.” he whispered back, squeezing her hip just as she turned away, heading up the steps of her house, his jacket still hung off her shoulders. Her lips were buzzing with the lingering energy of the kiss, and that same strange familiarity that often hung over her after she got close to the biker. 

Most of Simmons’ free time in the two weeks before the fair were too filled with prepping for the event to fuss over the reveal the biker had promised to make. She and Fitz continued to toil away in secret, working on their admittedly elaborate generator, which featured machinery fueled by various chemical processes. Simmons formulated the chemicals and processes, Fitz built the machinery. It was a system that worked. The Pink Ladies were growing suspicious unfortunately. Skye, she was pretty sure, knew something, but she trusted the slightly younger girl to stay quiet. Skye had always been a bit different from the other ladies, and if Simmons had had to choose one of them to entrust her various hidden agendas to, it would have been Skye. 

A few days before The Big Day, Fitz is at the boneyard, polishing his bike, when he hears a commotion outside the gates. Walking quietly, he leans around the wall of the garage. His eyes widen when he sees Grant Ward and John Garrett both pull up. At first, he’s sure he’s about to witness some sort of crazy fight, but the rivals only nod at each other, leaning against their bikes. Conveniently, Bobbi walks out of the garage at that moment. 

“Hey Bob.” Fitz says, his voice low. He nods at that scene before them “You got that tape recorder you use for lectures on you?” Bobbio grins, wicked and mischievous, and nods, slipping it out of her pocket as the two silently creep closer to the fenceline. She pushes record. 

The day of the science fair, Simmons is in knots. Skye is sitting on her bed, watching her frantically sort through her closet, and raises an eyebrow.

“Okay. Spill, who is he?”

“Who’s who?” Simmons asks, her voice cracking. 

“Come on, Simmons. You’ve been lying out your ass for weeks, and I know it’s not just because you entered the science fair voluntarily.”

“Wait.. you knew about that?”

“I know everything. I control literally every freshman boy on this campus, they tell me everything.”

“You’re going to make a great Bond girl someday, Skye.” 

“Bond girl? Please. I’m Bond.” Skye rolled her eyes. 

“That’s my girl.” Simmons said with a laugh. “So… let’s say I needed to impress someone. What color?”

“Red, you look great in red.” Skye stood up, stepping into Simmons’ closet and digging through it herself, looking for something tasteful but still flashy. Simmons felt a little of the weight of the world lift from her shoulders. 

Later that same day, Skye found herself roped into helping someone else. Leo Fitz, the exchange student who had a crush on Simmons. Fitz had hunted her down during the lunch period, and pulled her into the library stacks. He had a tape player. 

“I was told if I need something broadcast to the school, you were the girl for the job.” 

“This is true. What’s that?” she jerked a thumb at the tape. 

“The other day at the local boneyard I heard a very interesting conversation between Grant Ward and the leader of the Hyrda gang, John Garrett. Take a listen.” He turned the volume down so low Skye had to press the speaker to her ear to hear. But what she heard made her jaw drop, and she stared up at Fitz blankly. 

“Holy moly.” 

“Can you play that at the science fair? After it’s over?”

“The gym’s intercom? Yeah, I can do that.”

“Thanks, Skye.”

“You owe me. Treat her right.”

“I…. yeah. I do. Thanks.” 

Planning for the science fair has taken a lot of effort. Fitz sneaks silently behind the gym, hiding his leathers and his bike and helmet underneath a tarp and behind a pile of junk. He’ll have to sneak away after they present their creation, and then enter again, as the rider, just after the tape starts playing. Meanwhile, Skye in convincing Raina, the other ladies, and the T-Birds that attending the science fair to see Simmons will be ‘a real laugh’, to make sure they hear the recording. 

The gym is filled with poorly decorated booths, covered in science projects of varying degrees of quality and completion. Simmons is standing in front of hers and Fitz’s, attempting to wring her hands and look disinterested at the same time. It’s not working. The table as an array of small, interconnected devices on it, and beakers full of colored fluid. It looks a bit like a Rube Goldberg machine, only potentially dangerous. And slightly more refined. She sees a group of leather jackets pass through the doors, and she strains her eyes, but it’s only the T-Birds, followed by her friends. Fitz sidles up to her finally, looking strangely out of breath. 

“Remember Fitz-”

“I know, I know.” he cuts her off. “We’re just partners, not friends, whenever your real friends come by.” He sounds bitter, and it hurts something in Simmons’ chest she is trying very hard to ignore. 

As the night wears on, Simmons becomes more and more antsy, peering all around the gym. But the biker has yet to make his appearance. The judges approach the table, and she and Fitz present their work flawlessly, and she can tell from the look on their faces they’re going to win. Not that she ever doubted that. Her heart soars for a moment, but she sees Raina staring at her, and she buckles down her enthusiasm. Remember, Simmons, she chides herself, you don’t want to be here. Fitz, however, looks endlessly enthusiastic. She bites back a smile. 

The judges finish their rounds, and take a few minutes to deliberate and mark up scorecards. The biker still hasn’t shown his face. They announce second and third places, and Simmons is staring out the window so intently she almost doesn’t hear them call up her and Fitz for first place. But she does, and she turns to tug Fitz to the stage with her to accept it, but he’s gone. So she makes the walk by herself, not having to fake her frown. No biker. No Fitz. Not a single person here save Skye who understands anything about who she really is. As she accepts the tiny trophy, something inside her snaps, and she speaks evenly into the microphone. 

“I told all my friends I had to enter this science fair to keep my grade up, and it was a lie. I’m acing my science class. I’m acing all my classes, I’m first in line to be valedictorian, and I’m ruddy tired of acting like I’m not sharp as a tack just because I worked my arse off to head the Pink Ladies.” she put the microphone back into its stand, and walked as calmly and primly down the steps as possible. Skye looked elated, Raina looked equal parts confused and disgusted. Ward just looked confused. And then the intercom crackled, and Skye’s grin grew. 

“No one knows I’m meeting you here, right?” Ward’s voice crackles in the recording, playing over the tired speakers. His head snaps up immediately, snarling. 

“Of course not. I know how to keep my mouth shut.” Some people recognize Garrett’s voice, other’s don’t. 

“Good. Sorry about the screw up at the alley. I don’t know who that cat was.” 

“Just don’t let it happen again. Raid on your guys ain’t gonna work if some dude swoops in like that.”

“Yeah yeah, I know. When do you want to try again?”

“I need to get the pinks to my guy before the end of the month, so he can get all the bikes to the chop shop. We strip your gang’s bikes for parts, use the money to get the hell outta dodge.”

“That’s the plan.” 

The recording cuts off then, and suddenly the gym is abuzz with activity. Grant Ward is irate and yelling, the T-Birds are yelling back, trying to get a straight answer out of him. Simmons is in shock, almost forgetting to be upset about the lack of both fitz and the rider. Skye looks smug. And then, in the middle of the chaos, the roar of an engine is heard, and a motorcyle screeches through the doors, clearing an easy jump over the ring of tables and landing in front of the stage. Simmons rushes over immediately. 

“Did you do this?” she asks immediately, waving a hand at the speakers. 

“I did.” 

“Simmons.” Raina says coolly. “Who is this.”

“It’s the biker from the alley.” Skye offers, as if that was obvious. Which it sort of was. 

“And why do you know him?” Raina raises an eyebrow, her demeanor ice. 

“And how’d he record that shit?” a tall T-bird called from the back, where he was holding onto Ward by the collar of Ward’s jacket. Ward looked furious and unapologetic. 

“I work at the local boneyard. Overheard those two scum talking, thought it might be a good idea to have some proof.”

“Why?” Simmons furrowed her brows. 

“Well, you Pink Ladies only date T-Birds right? Consider the bowling alley and this tape recording my audition.”

“Oh, you’re in alright.” the tall T-Bird said again, forcibly pulling Ward’s jacket off. “But we gotta know who you are first.” 

“That’s my second order of business. I made a promise that I’d tell Miss Jemma here who I was tonight.” the smirk in his voice was audible, but his hands shook as he put his hands on his helmet and tugged it off. A gasp circled around the group of Pink Ladies and T-birds as the mysterious biker vigilante revealed he was, in fact, Leo Fitz, the scottish exchange student. 

“Fitz?!” Simmons practically shouted, jaw hanging slack. 

“Hey…” he mumbled, suddenly shy under the scrutiny of everyone around. The silence was broken by the tall T-bird, who stepped forward and clapped Fitz on the back. 

“Welcome to the gang. I’m Trip.” he handed him Ward’s jacket. “We’ll get you your own, but this one’ll work for now.” he grinned crookedly 

“Fitz?” Simmons repeats again, still in shock. Sliding up from the back, Skye beams and smacks both of them on the back, and then sets her sights on where Trip had headed, following in his footsteps, already twirling a strand of hair artfully around one finger. 

“Sorry. I didn’t know how else to get your attention.” he shrugged, holding the jacket in his crossed arms. 

I… I always thought something about the biker was familiar…” Simmons furrows her brow again. 

“Are you mad? I really can’t tell.” Fitz frowned. 

“No, no. I feel like maybe I should be, but if anything, I’m… relieved. I’ve been feeling conflicted lately about.. certain things, and the two of you being the same person really clears a lot of things up.”

“Oh.” he doesn’t know what to say, other than that. Simmons smiles at his confusion and hesitation, then grasps the lapels of his leather jackets and hauls him over to her, standing on her toes to meet his lips with hers. He beams against her lips and presses his hands into her lower back, pulling her closer, and her fingers scratch against the light sprinkling of stubble on his jaw. He really was a wonderful kisser, she thought to herself, remembering the night at the bowling alley, and their date the other night. He swings them around, pushing her between himself and the motorcycle, and finally pulls back, gasping for breath. Simmons looks up at him, her face flushed, and bites her lip. She leans on his shoulder, pressing her lips against his ear, and speaks quietly. 

“My parents are out of town on business. I must admit, I’ve been awfully curious about just what you can do with those hands.” she blushes further at her own brazenness, regretting it for a moment when Fitz looks shocked. but it fades after a second and he grins, nodding. 

“Yeah… alright.” he blushes, pulling one hand to his neck and scrubbing at it nervously. “Just uh… keep in mind I haven’t actually… done much before.”

“And you think I let the buffoon that calls himself Grant Ward get in my knickers? I think we’re probably close to on the same level. We can learn… together.” she grinned wickedly and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

The whole ride to Simmons’ house on his motorcycle, Fitz’s heart was pounding. He could barely believe that this absurd plan he’d concocted had worked. And if her being conflicted meant what he thought it did, that she’d been struggling between the character of the mysterious biker and the him she knew from school, really it had worked better than he ever hoped. 

“We won, by the way!” Simmons shouted over the roar of engines and wind. 

“Of course we did. We’re brilliant.”

“We make a very good team.” 

She leaned into his back then, and he could just barely feel her smile stretch against his back. Soon after, he arrived in front of her house, dark save for the light over the garage. Fitz rolls his bike up the drive, once Simmons dismounts, and as he turns to head up the walk, she grabs his collar again, smirking as she pulls him down for another searing kiss. Searchingly, he runs his tongue along the seam of her lips, and she tilts her head, opening her mouth. He walks them backwards, slowly, until she’s pressed between him and the garage door, his hands gripping her hips tightly. She pulls back with a giggle, biting her lip as she looks up at him, flushed and pleased. 

“We should go inside.” she whispered. “Be a bit of a downer if the neighbors saw and threatened to tell my folks.” 

Pulling away, she grabbed his hand and twisted her fingers through his, and lead him up the walk to her door. She slid her keys out with her free hand and swung the door open, flicking on lights as she went through the living room, still tugging Fitz behind her. 

“Are you gonna give me the grand tour?” Fitz asks, smirking as he presses closer to her, nipping her lower lip. 

“But of course.” she beams, and gives Fitz a moment to flounder. “In the morning. After breakfast.” 

“How very English of you.”

“Shut up, you filthy Scot.” 

The rest of the Simmons household was a blur to Fitz as the two of them did their best to make it up the stairs and into Simmons’ room without ever pulling their lips apart. They stumbled a handful of times, but overall, they didn’t do a bad job of it. Once they burst through the door to Simmons’ room, Fitz opts to pry himself away and look around. He takes in the simple decor, the light blues and deep reds of her curtains and bed spread, and the seemingly endless bookcases. He raises an eyebrow. 

“This is the room of the head of the Pink Ladies?”

“Oh, hush it. They think my parents decorate, obviously.”

“Either you are secretly a world class spy or your friends are the single most gullible group of humans I have ever encountered.”

“Skye and Raina, not so much but the others… You may have a point. Now, are you going to make fun of my choice in both decor and friends all night or are we going to.. well…”

“Oh. Right. That was the plan.”

“I mean. We don’t have to if-” 

“No, no! I want to! As long as you do, I would never-”

“I do! And I know you wouldn’t.” Simmons’ face settles into a sweet and trusting gaze, and something in Fitz’s gut clenches unpleasantly. 

“You trust me. Why do you trust me? I lied to you, I lied to you for weeks! Oh god, I’ve gone and doomed the whole thing before it ever started-”

“Fitz! Fitz, stop. Yes, technically, you hid the truth from me. But I’m the one who forced you into trying to become something else just to get me to give you a second glance, not because I didn’t like you, but because I had some ridiculous idea of who I ‘had’ to like and was so terrified of losing my standing. We both boffed it a bit, we can admit that, right?”

“Yeah, I’d agree to that.”

“Alright. So, you lied to me, sort of, and pretended to be two people. But as both of those people you were nothing but respectful, and always looked out for my safety and did as you promised you would. Really, you’ve given me no reason not to trust you.”

“Well, I mean it’s also not exactly your fault you got caught up in social status games. I’m not going to run around blaming people for buying into what people are constantly pushing on them.”

“So we’re good?”

“We’re very good.”

“Good.” Simmons smiled sweetly and then, with a yank, pulled Fitz down into her bed. “Hi.” she giggled, when his face landed beside hers on the pillow.

“Hello.” Fitz beamed goofily, reaching over to smooth Simmons’ ruffled hair and tuck it behind her ears. She took advantage of his closeness to press her lips to hers again, the motion already becoming practiced and familiar in the best of ways. 

“I’ve been thinking about this since that night I kissed you in the bowling alley.” she whispered, suddenly shy.

“Really?”

“Oh yes. You’re a lovely kisser, and you smelled like cinnamon and soap and metal. Delightful”

Fitz flushed at her words, but only responded by kissing her again, and redoubling his efforts. He planted one hand firmly on her hip, fingertips barely pressing into the warmth of her, and slid the other up her side, and into her hair. She hummed appreciatively, snuggling closer to him and nibbling his bottom lip as she carded her hands through his curls and gently scraped her nails along his neck, sending shivers singing down his spine. 

“For the record,” he mumbled against her lips as he ran his fingers along her scalp “I’ve been thinking about this since then too.” 

Simmons makes an executive decision then, sitting up abruptly and beginning to unbutton her thin silk blouse. Fitz splutters, but she just smiles and keeps going, then shrugs it off her shoulders. Predictably, his eyes drift down to her breasts, and she feels her skin heat up, both from the embarrassment of exposure, and the laser focus of his eyes on her form. 

“You’re beautiful.” he whispers, and it’s practically reverent, the way he says it as he leans forward and kisses her again and presses his hands against her chest. She sighs, appreciating that his fingers and palms were just as warm and work rough and careful as she’d imagined, as she’d hoped. Banishing any fear of seeming eager, she tugs at Fitz’s jacket, and he slips it off without a word, and as if he could read her mind, his white t-shirt followed right after. She watched where it fell to the floor, already planning to swoop in and steal it for herself, enjoying the mental image of what Fitz’s face would look like, seeing her wearing nothing but his shirt and her knickers.

As Simmons runs her fingers over his chest, she is pleasantly surprised. There’s more to him than she would have expected. Working at the auto shop must be good for the muscles. His arms, in particular, delight her. Small but well defined biceps. delightfully firm forearms, and those wide, warm, rough palms. He kissed her again, and she molded herself up against him. She didn’t remember when he rolled on top of her, but she certainly didn’t mind being bracketed by his arms. As his lips strayed down her neck and to her collarbone, she slipped her legs up and around his waist, enjoying the gasp of shock and pleasure he let out at the sudden pressure. As if in retaliation, he pressed his teeth into the softness of her throat, then quickly pressed soft kisses to the reddened skin. He pressed his fingers into her back, along the line of her bra, and looked at her pointedly. She nodded, giving him permission to remove it, and he did so carefully and quickly, his nimble fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of her spine as he did. 

Time seemed to slow down as Fitz made his way around Simmons’ chest at a snail’s pace, tracing his fingertips over every last centimeter of goose-bumped skin and every fold and pillow of her breasts, like he was trying to memorize her. Impatient, she tugged him down for another kiss, and fumbled for his fly.He pulled back, just slightly. 

“Are you sure?” his voice was low and husky, and his breathing ragged, but the concern was clear in his eyes. She melted. 

“I’m sure.” she answered back, nodding, and being slightly surprised by the breathy, needy tone of her own voice. 

They both shook with nerves, just slightly, as they struggled out of their trousers. Particularly Fitz, as getting out of leathers was a feat on a normal occasion. When all was said and done, they were both kneeling on Simmons’ bed, the covers mussed beneath them, stark naked. Though very confident in her body and looks, Simmons felt vulnerable, with him just staring at her silently. She moved to shrink in on herself, but before she could, he pulled her close to him again, kissing her softly and sweetly. 

“Is this alright?” he asked, his voice low, as he carefully leaned her back into the mattress. She nodded, wrestling her feet out from under her and stretching them out beneath him. Watching her face to track her reactions, he let his hand drift down her stomach and to the juncture in her legs. He may not have been especially experienced, but he had asked Bobbi to tell him a few things, enough things to know it was better if the guy didn’t just plunge right in there. He ran his fingers along her folds, enjoying watching her shiver and close her eyes as he used more pressure. He traced a path from her clit to her opening with a flick of his fingers and gulped when her legs fell open further. 

Simmons, for her part, was enjoying this thoroughly. Whoever had informed Fitz to loosen her up a little first deserved a hearty, hearty thanks. She sighed loudly, stretching her legs open slightly more, and just barely opened her eyes. Fitz was focused, biting the tip of his tongue in concentration as he watched the way she reacted to his careful but well intentioned touches. 

“Fitz.” she whispered quietly, after a few moments. 

“Leo.” he smiled. 

“Leo…” she pulled his hands up from her sex carefully, and gave him a meaningful look. They were both flushed red and breathing heavily. Fitz nodded, and Simmons released his hands so he could fumble through her drawer for a condom to pull on, and then carefully guide himself inside her. 

“Go slow. It might-” 

“Hurt, yeah. I’ll be careful. I promise.” 

He pressed in slowly, just little at a time, each time waiting until he saw Simmons’ face relax. The whole time he pressed tiny kisses to her face and stroked her hair, and ran his hands down her face and neck and breasts. She didn’t think she had ever felt more loved and precious in her entire life. It was a very warm feeling. Finally, Fitz had eased himself completely inside of her, and was trying not to move at all while he pressed sloppy, warm kisses against the column of her throat. Humming appreciatively, Simmons moved her hips slightly, to tell him it was okay to start moving, if slowly. 

The two built a slow and steady rhythm, both surprised at the ease of which their bodies found a balance between them. Simmons’ hips tilted up to meet the gentle, slow thrusts of Fitz’s, and they built of speed naturally. She arched her back, mewling when it pressed him rather deliciously against the inside of her. 

The sinuous motion of her beneath him was captivating to Fitz. He couldn’t help but drink every inch of the sight of it in as he thrust in and out of her, tracing the undulating path of her hips and the rise and fall of her breasts with his eyes. The air was hot and tense with the sounds of heavy breathing, punctuated with the occasional gasp or whimper or groan. Fitz picked up his pace again, pressing her fingers tighter into Simmons’ sides, watching with interest as she snaked one hand out of his hair and down between her legs. The sight of her sliding her fingers against herself is intoxicating, especially when she’s gasping and breathing like that. He can feel himself getting close, using all his will to keep from finishing before she does. He wants her to go first, wants to make sure she gets what she needs, what she deserves. 

“Oh, Leo-” she breathes, more a gasping sigh than anything else, and suddenly she’s pushing back into his hips with more strength and speed than before, and he matches her thrust for thrust, and he feels it as she unravels, the hand not between her legs pulling at the hair at the base of his neck.

“Leo!” she gasps again, and he follows her over the edge, leaning into her, their heaving chests pressing together. 

“Oh god, Jemma.” he sighs, his body immediately relaxing as he finishes, not just with the relief of his arousal, but the tension of weeks and months of strangeness, now all awash in the afterglow of the newness between them. 

Simmons tugs Fitz down on top of her, enjoying the weight and warmth of him against her for a few minutes. She knows they need to get cleaned up before they go to bed, and she meant what she said about breakfast, she fully intends to have Fitz stay the night with her. She basks in the glow of him as long as she can stand their mutual stickiness, and then suggests they ready themselves for bed. 

Once cleaned up and back in her bed, under the bedclothes this time, Simmons slots herself against Fitz’s chest without hesitation, pressing her nose into his skin and soaking in the scent of him. She smiles, and he can feel the pull and tilt of her lips against the still warm plane of his chest. 

“I’m glad it was you.” she murmurs sleepily, catching his hand in hers. Fitz isn't sure if she means her first time, or if she means it in a wider sense, she’s glad he was the biker, glad he came to the school and into her life. But he finds it doesn’t really matter, and he presses his face into her damp hair, smiling. 

“I am too.” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. 

The following Monday, Rydell High is as busy as ever, but a strange feeling has settled over the school. Everyone has heard about what happened at the science fair by now, from Simmons’s speech and coming clean about her academics, to the biker crashing and revealing he was Leo Fitz, to the two of them going home together. It feels like a social upheaval, and in a way, no one feels like the day can truly start until the two of them arrive, to see what happens. 

The roar of a motorcycle approaches,and two helmeted figures leave it perfectly parked next to the curb. Simmons pulls of her helmet first, and fearless straightens the lapels of her Pink Ladies jacket. Raina lurks off to the side, and Simmons shoots her a withering look, before turning her attentions to Fitz. She tugs his helmet off, and fixes what was once Ward’s T-Bird jacket around his shoulders before giving him a kiss. 

“Ready for advanced chem?” Fitz asks, looking over and lacing his fingers through hers. 

“Oh,” Simmons replies, her smirk dangerous and her eyes playful and glowing. “I was born ready.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not going to lie, I found this fic super challenging to write. I really struggled to find a balance between having Simmons and Fitz fit the roles they needed to while staying as true as possible to their personalities. But in the end, I'm pretty happy what I came up with. Hope you liked it, Lavendergaia!


End file.
